Rohn had been right. Weaponizing infectious diseases by tweaking various gene sequences to increase lethality and communicability was so twentieth century. This was the new world, where the old limits of DNA and RNA no longer applied. Genetic engineering was a playground, where men like him spliced nucleic acids together like Lego blocks. The only limit was his imagination, and he had a very vivid imagination.
“Unless you’re standing at ground zero,” Van Der Hausen explained, gesturing toward the village, “within about fifty feet of the device when the spores are released, you could simply walk away and not be affected. If, that is, you knew what was happening.”
Rohn grunted. “And you are ready to demonstrate now?”
Van Der Hausen waggled the GPS again. “Say the word, and I’ll press the button.”
“One moment.” Rohn took out a satellite-enabled smartphone and tapped the screen to place a call. There was an audible ringing—the phone was in speaker mode—and then a voice spoke.
“Yes?”
“It is Rohn.”
“Ah, time to see if our Swedish friend is worth the money we’ve spent.” The voice was high-pitched and wheezy.
An old man, Van Der Hausen decided.
“Show me!” the man commanded.
Rohn held the device up so that its built-in camera was oriented down toward the cluster of huts. “You may proceed,” he told Van Der Hausen.
The geneticist nodded and then turned his attention to the village as well. At a distance of almost three hundred yards, the villagers were barely discernible.
Like ants, he told himself. That’s all they are.
He felt no remorse at what he was about to do. These were not people, not fellow human beings… They were a plague of insects, breeding and consuming with no regard for the consequences. Ebola was nature’s way of trying to restore the balance, a fact that his fellow volunteers at the WHO had never understood. They had swept in like crusading knights, intent on slaying the dragon without ever stopping to consider that the dragon might have a role to play in the natural order of things.
His only regret was that this was merely a demonstration. One village. A drop in the ocean. Rohn’s employer—his employer, too, he supposed—wanted a product, not wholesale devastation.
A countdown seemed appropriate. He started at five, and when he got to zero, he tapped the transmit button on the GPS.
He thought he heard a distant popping noise, like a balloon bursting or a cork shooting from a bottle of champagne, but it was probably just his imagination. The aerosol devices that disseminated the spores were more like garden sprinklers. There might have been a faint hiss close to the source but nothing audible at such a distance.
The wheezy voice issued from the phone. “Is something supposed to happen?”
“You must be patient,” Van Der Hausen answered. “It may take a few minutes for the first generation of spores to mature. Growth will be exponential once the spores encounter a source of…ah...nutrients.”
Several seconds passed, but still there was no visible change.
The voice spoke again. “I had expected something a little more dramatic, Dr. Van Der Hausen. This is rather disappointing.”
“We may be too far away to see the results,” Van Der Hausen replied, unable to hide his anxiety. They should have been able to see something. The outcome of the test in the laboratory had been quite dramatic.
“Rohn, take our friend closer so that we may get a better look.” The voice of the old man on the other end of the phone was noticeably impatient and tinged with sarcasm.
Closer? Despite his earlier assurance, Van Der Hausen felt a twinge of panic at this prospect. Now that the spores were circulating, moving closer was definitely a bad idea. He looked at Rohn, hoping to see the same apprehension that he now felt, but the man’s face was an emotionless mask. Rohn nodded in the direction of the village and spoke a single word. “Go.”
Van Der Hausen swallowed nervously, forcing down the impulse to protest. “Very well.” He knew what to look for. He would stop at the first sign of propagation.
As they descended the hillside, they were once more engulfed in the jungle thicket. Van Der Hausen scanned the vegetation, looking for any signs of new growth. After just a couple of minutes of pushing through the foliage, they reached the edge of the clearing. Though still a good hundred yards from the nearest hut, Van Der Hausen could hear the sounds of daily village life—children playing and babies squalling in their mothers’ arms.
Something was wrong.
“There may have been a malfunction in the aerosol devices,” he said, his tone more hopeful than disappointed. That explanation was preferable to the alternative. Yet, he had placed four of the devices—one at each corner of the building that had been set aside for use as a clinic—and the likelihood that all of them had failed was marginal at best. Which meant that the problem was with the organism itself. “Or possibly some environmental counter-agent that I didn’t account for.”
“I’ve seen enough,” the old man replied. “Rohn, I have need of you elsewhere. Get to Athens as soon as possible. Kenner believes we may be on the verge of a breakthrough.”
“What about him?” Rohn’s eyes flashed toward Van Der Hausen.